


Closer

by quixotomy



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Battle, Belligerent Sexual Tension, But Also Love Sex, Fighty Boys, Hate Sex, Love/Hate, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 13:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17898794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quixotomy/pseuds/quixotomy
Summary: [re-post] Grimmjow comes to the human world after Orihime is saved; Ichigo gets tangled up in a messy situation, and drags Grimmjow down with him.





	1. fighting

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all. One of my stories (Chrysalis) got deleted from ff.net last year, so I am transferring my stuff to ao3.com! Hope you all still enjoy.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Bleach and am making no money from this. I also do not own the lyrics to 'Closer'. Kings of Leon do, though, and I do urge everyone who reads this to go and listen to it at least once because I think it is a great song. :3_

* * *

 

_Stranded in this spooky town,_  
Stoplights are swaying  
And the phone lines are down  
This floor is crackling cold,  
She took my heart, I think she took my soul  
With the moon I run,  
Far from the carnage of the fiery sun

_Driven by the strangle of vein_  
Showing no mercy I do it again  
Open up your eyes  
You keep on crying, baby  
I'll bleed you dry  
Skies are blinking at me  
I see a storm bubbling up from the sea

_And it's coming closer  
And it's coming closer_

_You shimmy shook my bones,_  
Leaving me stranded all in love on my own  
Do you think of me?  
Where am I now baby, where do I sleep?  
Feels so good but I'm old  
Two thousand years of chasing taking its toll

_And it's coming closer_  
And it's coming closer  
And it's coming closer  
And it's coming closer

* * *

 

I don't know how it happened.

I don't know how it started, when it started, why. It's wrong. Unnatural. Not only is he a guy, but he's dead. _Dead._ A hollow. Espada. My sworn enemy.

He's tried to kill me at least half a dozen times. He's stuck his hand through Rukia's stomach, almost blasted her head away, had threatened to hurt Nel and Inoue and I can't forget that, my head won't let me – but when I'm around him, when he looks at me with those blue eyes, something changes in my chest. Something tightens. I can feel my heartbeat in my ears, can feel the rush of blood to inappropriate places, and I turn red and I can't look at him anymore. I can't look at _anyone_ anymore.

They all wonder what's happening to me. Shinji, Rukia, Inoue, Chad – everyone. I train, as normal, both at Urahara's and with the Visored, but it's not the same. I can't stop thinking about him. My defense is clumsy, my offense is skewed, I don't pay attention, I get cut and bruised and shouted at. Yes, you assholes, I _know_ my life's on the line. I know that. I know it could fall apart without me. I know that.

But you selfish pricks, can't you do something? You were all captains, you've been shinigami for hundreds of fucking years, you're better than I am – me, I've been fighting hollows for just over six months. What do you want from me? What do you expect me to save the day, the girl, the whole fucking world, when it's you that's stronger? More powerful? More experienced?

All I have is luck and that damn hollow inside my head.

Sometimes I wonder if Grimmjow knows. If I look at him like that. I hope he doesn't, I pray he doesn't. I hope my friends – they're too perceptive, they know me too well. Ishida, Inoue, Chad, Rukia, Renji – sometimes I think they can tell. Urahara…I wouldn't be surprised if he knew as well. It's embarrassing, it's mortifying, and he –

Yeah, he definitely knows. Because he was the one who suggested it.

" _You seem to have trouble concentrating on your training, Kurosaki-san. Any reason for that?"_

" _No. I don't know what you're talking about."_

_He looks at me, eyes blank, thoughtful. "I see."_

" _Are we finished here?"_

" _Not quite. You might be interested to know that I have a new guest. Someone you're acquainted with."_

And of course it's Grimmjow.

Abandoning Aizen, leaving Hueco Mundo with everyone that went there in the first place to rescue Inoue – it was a deathwish. I don't know why he did it. He doesn't think, he doesn't consider the consequences, he just jumps right in there and draws his sword and fights like he's not going to live another day. It pisses me off. Can't he _think,_ for once?

And then we start fighting together. Urahara doesn't let me use the hollow mask, or my bankai – he tells me to master my baser powers first. This results in me getting beaten black and blue. Grimmjow is merciless, taunting, brutal. I got broken bones, I got concussions, I lost a ton of blood. Afterwards, most of the time, even breathing is painful. I've never been so thankful for Inoue's existence.

Once, I kissed her. On the cheek, just to say thank you. She looked so startled, flushed so prettily – I couldn't help it. I thought I could erase his presence in my mind with hers. I almost pulled her down and then –

"Shinigami."

I jump away. She turns white and looks at the door, where Grimmjow lounges. He's wearing human clothes. They look good on him. Too good.

I can't meet his eyes. They're not human eyes. I don't want to look at them.

"We need to talk. With Urahara," he says. "He says it's shit about training."

I can't look at Inoue. I get up, newly healed, and I walk with him. I keep my distance. The clothes can't hide his muscular frame, they accentuate it. I've grown a lot during my time as a shinigami but he's still an inch or two taller than me. I hate having to look up at him. I hate looking at him, because I feel it again – my chest feels like it's going to burst, my stomach overflows with butterflies, my hands shake. His face is beautiful, and I hate it.

Hate hate hate. I've never felt it so much. Never felt so much of it for another person – if Grimmjow can be called a person. He's a hollow, Ichigo. Hollow. Enemy. Never forget that. You're enemies.

Why do I feel this way? Why? Of all the people in existence, of all the times in the world, why _now?_ Why _him?_

Oh God, I hate it.

"Ah, Kurosaki-san."

Urahara talks, but I don't listen. I need to keep my guard up. My stance keeps slipping. I have to be more alert. I know that. I know that.

Just don't keep him around, Urahara, don't keep Grimmjow around, and maybe I can concentrate.

I leave and I move stiffly. Grimmjow comes with me. He is silent. Oh, go the fuck away Grimmjow. Why do you do this?

Sometimes I think you know. Sometimes I think, maybe. Maybe you wouldn't reject it.

But then you look at me with those eyes and that hope shrivels up and dies. And I know better to trust you. I know better than to place anything fragile in your hands – those hands, you'll use them to crush anything if it amuses you. Right?

And my heart is fragile, I can feel it.

* * *

 

The night air is soft and fragrant. I love walking at night. Everything is quiet and peaceful.

When there are no hollows, at least.

No such luck tonight.

I don't turn to look at him out of _choice_ – he pulls me to him.

We're inches apart. My mouth is so close to him, my body is so close to him, I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. He's wearing a gigai. The mask is gone. The hollow hole is gone. He looks like a human – a handsome, young human man. But I won't let myself be fooled, even if I want to.

He breathes into my ear, "You're pathetic."

And I know I'm doomed.

* * *

He watches me, when he thinks I'm not looking.

Pathetic.

He's just a kid. He doesn't know anything. He thinks he can save the day, that he's some big damn hero – fuck, he's a scrawny brat with power he can't control and no experience.

I wanna crush him.

I wanna feel his blood on my skin, I wanna break him apart, I wanna press close against him and stretch his body out against mine and I want to fuck him into the nearest flat surface so hard he wouldn't able to walk for days.

I'm a hollow, sure, but I've had a human body for some time now. I know what it can feel, I know what it can do. I've had experience. Women and men.

Humans, I've found out, are good for things other than fighting.

But I've never felt it like this before.

I don't know what to call this feeling.

It's like I'm sick.

Like I'm sick, and nothing can cure it.

I try and fuck other guys, guys that look like him, that talk like him, that fight like him, but they're never the same. Never.

And it grows and grows and takes over until I can't think, my head is so full of him. Thick with the smell of him, his sweat and the color of his eyes burning into me, the feel of his skin, sweat-slick and hot, sliding against me, inside me, oh fuck-

I hate him. I've never hated anything, anyone, so much. Not even Aizen. Not even Ulquiorra.

This shinigami brat, he can take me down in the weirdest of ways. He looks at me with those puppy-dog eyes of his, and I know what he wants, but I know he's afraid. He's scared. Of himself, of me, of his feelings.

And that's why he's pathetic.

He makes me sick.

Why him?

There're other guys. But they're not as attractive. Not as strong. Not him.

And I can't believe it – me, Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, Sexta Espada – I've been brought down to this level. Pining for a weak, pitiable little boy.

But I know he wants it.

And I want it too. I want him.

And a King always gets what he wants.

* * *

 

"You're pathetic."

My voice is soft. Nothing else about me is. I leave bruises, cuts, scars on him – and I hate that woman, the healing woman, because she takes them away. I mark him as mine, but she reverses it all. She brought back my arm but I repaid that debt – I have no need for her. I want her gone.

And the shinigami, he _dares-_

I saw in his eyes what he wanted to do. She longs for him too, but it's pure and gentle and _human._ It's love.

I don't love.

I just _want._

Kurosaki's brown eyes are wide. I see the moon reflected in them, but there are no stars in the sky. He wants to say something, but I punch him, something hard across the jaw, and he staggers away, gagging.

"What the fuck?" he spits, recovering.

I like that.

I want fire.

I want fight.

Not a soft, simpering weakling.

Give me fire, Kurosaki. Don't let me down.

I smirk at him. "You heard me. You're pathetic. Weak. Afraid."

He laughs, contemptuous. "Afraid? Of you? Don't be stupid Grimmjow, _I'm_ not the one who lost our last real fight-"

I'm there so fast he can't even blink. I throw a punch, he ducks and kicks me in the stomach. I catch my breath and trip him up, straddle his waist – he flips us over until he's the one on top. He punches me, once, twice, and his knuckles are bleeding, he's furious, I love that face, that anger-

I grab his ass and pull him down on top of my hips. He chokes. He can't say anything. I just watch him.

We're outside, in that empty space in front of Urahara's store. It's cold. Mid-December, if I remember the human calendar rightly. I can see my breath in the air. I see his.

But I can't see his eyes.

I don't know what he's thinking.

"Grimmjow," he says, voice shaky. "What the hell is that?"

I arch against him, press my hips against his. "What? You never been horny before? I doubt that, shinigami."

He chokes again and tries to pull away. "No…I…"

Oh, for fuck's sake.

"Don't be a pussy," I snarl. "You know you want it. You know."

"No-"

"Yes."

I pull. He pushes. Magnets. My hand snakes down and presses between his legs – yeah, it's there. He feels the same.

But he doesn't want to give in.

Pathetic.

"Let me go!" he hisses.

We fight. Not training. Not a spar. But not a fight to the death, either – something rushed, desperate, thoughtless. He's a good fighter. I'm not used to this fake body, not yet. For once, he overpowers me. Kicks me square in the head, his heel on my forehead, and almost cracks my skull in two.

In this body, my skin is not made of steel. My bones are just...bones.

Through the pain I still look up at him, still smile as I see his dark eyes glaring at me before he turns and walks away.

Pathetic.

I rear my head and laugh.

He can't run forever.

* * *

 

When I see him next he doesn't crawl back with his tail hanging between his legs. He's straight-backed and scowling, takes no shit, mouthy and blunt and rude and downright irritating, like always.

Just looking at that ridiculous hair raises my hackles. I have never, in all my existence, seen hair as bright as his. As loud.

I think about running my fingers through that hair. Grabbing that head, pulling it down, letting that mouth suck and lick and kiss like I know it wants to. The dreams, I know, won't be as good as the real thing.

But he still can't look at me.

He's embarrassed.

Still frightened.

And I'm not a patient guy.

I'll have to fix this.

* * *

 

We fight. He's getting better with his shikai alone, but it's not enough. He's still pretty shit. He relies too much on his bankai and that mask.

I cut him up, relishing the feel of his skin tearing, the blood gushing – wide, outraged, pain-filled eyes staring at me. I'm pumped up with the adrenaline, laughing, euphoric, as hard as a rock. He notices. He is, too.

There's no one else around.

We're not at Urahara's this time. Some abandoned warehouse the other shinigami – the ones with masks – have commandeered. It's just me and him.

Perfect.

He can see it in my eyes.

Hunger.

Dark.

Unforgiving.

And he runs.

Not so fucking fast.

Somehow he manages to get into his human body before I reach him. I lunge. We fall to the floor, tangled limbs, cursing, hands grabbing everywhere, him struggling against me until I pin him down on the ground and flex my fingers around his neck. He tries to fight me off, but I'm stronger.

Better.

He has a massive hard-on. I can feel it through the jeans. I rub my hand between his legs and his hips jerk, he gasps, legs flailing.

"S-shit," he whimpers. "Fuck, ah – Grimmjow…ah-"

Not so innocent now, are you?

Not such a prude.

Just like any other human whore, writhing under me.

I thought you didn't want this, huh?

"G-Grimmjow, stop-"

"No."

"Stop it!"

I smile. "It's not rape if you enjoy it."

Maybe, in hindsight, I shouldn't have said it. It was like a switch was flipped and I saw that black rage in his eyes, I should've stopped and gone a little slower, but fuck, that body against mine-

I thought he would rip my arms off.

I thought he would _kill_ me.

I shouldn't have enjoyed it as much as I did.

But I savored that experience. He's a constant surprise, that shinigami. Every time I think I've got him down he turns around and dodges to the side, grinds me into the floor or slices my chest in two.

It's fun.

It's what the chase is all about.

I would be bored otherwise.

Instead, I'm frustrated. Panting on the floor, still hard, so hard it's almost sore; everything's a mess, my hair, my clothes, my head.

Just what is it about him?

I don't get it.

I don't know why it started. When it started. One day I just looked at him, maybe it was the light, maybe something in the air, and I thought to myself, _I want that._

_Everything._

_Everything about him will be mine._

Maybe I've been living in this world a little too long.

Hollows, we don't need to have sex. We don't need emotions. We eat to stop regression, we fight to maintain the balance of power, we mark our territory. We're animals. Mindless. Simple.

We don't _need_ emotions. But we get them anyway. Gillian, adjuchas, arrancar: the higher up you go, the more you're saddled with.

The more human you become.

Neliel is a perfect example of that. She's soft. She's loving, forgiving, trusting; noble.

It's what fucked her up.

She practically handed herself to Nnoitra on a plate.

I don't intend to do that.

I just want to taste Kurosaki. I want to see that anger in his eyes spit like fire. I want to have that body under me, that power lashing under my hands, that hair, that mouth, everything.

I want him to lose control.

To go wild.

To become like me.

It'll be _fun._

I'll make sure of that.

* * *


	2. fucking

Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach** and am making no money writing fanfiction.

Warning: a pinch of gay sex

* * *

 

After that one night, Grimmjow watches me. He follows me. He stalks me. And I can't help being creeped out and anxious but weirdly flattered at the same time; he's good-looking, he knows that, he could get anyone he wanted. And it seemed like he wanted me the same way I wanted him.

It inflated my ego a little, I'll admit. But that didn't mean I'd give into him so easily. It was still wrong. I still hated him. Lust and aggression, that was all we had. There was no affection, no warm feelings of friendship or camaraderie; intrinsically, we were enemies. Down to the very fucking marrow in our bones. I wasn't about to forget that.

But the longer it went on, the more he chased me, the more I got into it, the more I was blinded to anything else. The easier it was to just _let go,_ to just accept it instead of fight it. I didn't think about other people's reactions, how weird it would be to have any sort of relationship to Grimmjow except the one that we had already (which consisted of mostly beating each other into a bloody pulp) because I didn't have anything on my mind apart from our little game of cat-and-mouse.

I think, in the end, I got tired. That's why I did it. That's why I gave up. And I was angry, too: angry about having to deny myself what I wanted, after feeling _nothing_ like this for all my life.

For once, I wanted to be a normal teenage boy. Normal- _ish_ , anyway. I wanted have fun and fool around, and if that meant that I'd be putting my life on the line just so I could explore what I had with Grimmjow, so be it. I didn't want to be so careful anymore. I didn't want to be cautious or sensible about it.

I told myself it would be nothing. Just experimentation, if you want. I wouldn't bring real _emotions_ into this whole fucked-up situation. I had it all under control.

That's what I told myself at the beginning, in any case. I was completely assured that nothing would be screwed up as long as I didn't get emotionally involved.

So you know what that means.

* * *

It takes me weeks.

Dozens of sparring sessions.

Me ambushing him, at his house, at his school, even on the street. He gets more and more edgy, and it's nothing less than entertaining. Always on the lookout for me. Afraid, ill-at-ease. Anticipating.

And then he finally gives in.

I'll tell you all about it. A cute little fireside story.

Once or twice a week he goes out with his friends. Sometimes they're human, sometimes they're not. This time, he's with the shinigami; they're at some bar, drinking, being loud and obnoxious, generally getting on everyone else's nerves. They force Kurosaki to have a drink, just to loosen up.

One.

Two

Three beers later and he's a little more relaxed.

Three and a half, and the smiles come easily.

Four; he's slurring some of his words.

Five; he's laughing at their shitty jokes. The light shines gold in his eyes. If he smiles wide enough he gets dimples. He blushes, and the red is smeared across his nose and his cheeks like someone painted it there.

I'm there too, in my fake body. I'm used to it now. It doesn't creak when I move. It's not stiff. But it's weak, and it pisses me off. I feel heavy, weighed down, like I'm anchored to the ground.

They don't see me. I'm in a corner. They invited me, but not because they want me there.

But because they feel sorry for me.

For that alone I will kill them all someday.

Not yet, though.

I watch, and I wait.

Silent.

Calculating.

Like a good predator should be.

Kurosaki says his goodbyes and gets to his feet, unsteady. He stumbles to the door. They offer to walk him home; he brushes them off. None of them notice as I slip after him.

I'm not a threat anymore. Just Grimmjow, former Espada, their ally. They're suspicious of me still, but complacent.

In the future that complacency will kill them.

I'll make sure of it.

Kurosaki doesn't stagger when he walks. His eyes are half-closed but when I sneak up behind him he still manages to block my punch and deal me a kick to the knee that drives me back. Then he sees who it is, and he smiles.

I don't expect that.

"Hey," he says, words smeared, his smile clear and guileless. "Goin' home too?"

For some reason, that stings. "I don't _have_ a home, shinigami."

He knows better than to pity me. The smile becomes – it becomes a little shyer, more embarrassed. He looks…like a human. Young. Untouched.

The urge to ruin that innocent perfection almost takes my breath away.

"You wanna come over to my place?"

…What?

The shy smile turns a little coy. "You didn't seem like you were enjoying yourself there."

"Is that really a surprise, dickhead?" I meant it to come out as biting and sarcastic. It's a little sourer than I wanted.

He moves closer to me. We're just about nose-to-nose, now. Shit, when did he grow?

Closer.

Closer.

Why can't I breathe?

"Grimmjow." He says it in a whisper. A hand curls around the back of my neck. I can't breathe.

For a moment, he hesitates. He's thinking. Weighing up the options.

And then he looks into my eyes and he must see something he likes 'cause he smiles.

"Fuck it," he says, and then he kisses me.

Just a tentative press of his lips to mine. It's not his first kiss and he's not inexperienced, but he's unsure. Shy.

Ah, just the thought of it makes me heat up.

His lips were dry and cracked, his breath stank of beer, I was being pushed up against a cold hard wall, and I still managed to enjoy it.

But he pulls away after a couple of seconds. I grab the back of his head and crush my mouth to his, biting down on his lips, making them swell and bleed. I slip my tongue into his hot, wet mouth, feel him groan and sag against me, feel his hands slide into the back pockets of my jeans and grind our hips together. My hands tug his shirt up and trace the contours of his muscled stomach, dance over his chest. One of his fingers drags itself down the dip of my spine and plays with the waistband of my pants.

I don't know how long we stay there, in that street, kissing; an insistent, heated exploration of lips and tongue and teeth and skin. It's long enough for us to get cold. It's long enough for the triumph to fill my belly, the satisfaction rolling against my whole body.

I've won.

He's lost. Given in. Broken down.

I whisper in his ear, "You need to let go, shinigami."

He groans.

"You need to _unwind."_

A sigh. He pushes himself against me, as if he's trying to melt into me.

I say, "Forget the others."

His eyes slit open. In the dark, they're almost jet-black and liquid with desire. Kurosaki, he breathes: "Yeah."

It's all I need.

* * *

Just because we had sex didn't mean we liked each other. Don't get me wrong, I hate Grimmjow. I _hate_ him. And he hates me. It's the only saving grace of our relationship – if you can call it that.

See, it all happened very fast. Since Grimmjow's not a human, he doesn't know or care or appreciate things like ' _I'm not ready'_ or ' _I want to take this slow'_ or even ' _Shitshitshit that really hurts, stop it you bastard!_

I had my first kiss with him and lost my virginity to him in the same month. Crazy. More than crazy. _Criminally fucking stupid,_ is what I am.

He did know that if he pushed it I would hurt him, but he knew I wanted it, on some animalistic level. OK, so I'll admit that when he pays attention and goes slow (and fucking _prepares)_ and doesn't just pound away, it's good. Really good. Unfortunately, Grimmjow's never really given a shit about anyone or anything other than himself. I'm just a handy hole to fuck wrapped up in an interesting package. Even I know it.

Maybe me thinking that he actually likes me is delusion. I think it is. I'm pretty sure it is.

But you can't blame me for wishful thinking, can you?

It was a poisonous relationship. Toxic. I knew it would destroy me in the end if I let it go on too long, but that's part of the reason I gave up in the end and just did it.

Grimmjow was danger. He was adrenaline. He was excitement. There was something about his eyes, his arrogant smile, his disrespectful attitude – it made my blood heat up, in more than one way. When I was with him, I could be as violent as I wanted. I could be as rude, as cocky, as crazy – I could let go and be everything I was afraid to be in front of everyone else.

There's something about him that lets me drop every façade I ever created for myself and just _go insane._

It's exhilarating.

Addictive.

It's why I went back time and time again. It's why I fell deeper and deeper into the tangled mess that was Grimmjow Jaegerjaques.

And the longer it lasted the less I cared about what people thought of it.

I remember how they found out. I remember the shock. The anger. The disapproval. Like some kind of cocktail forced down my throat – but you know, it's kind of like swallowing when you're giving someone a blowjob and they come in your mouth (and trust me, I know – I always snap at Grimmjow to fucking _warn_ me before he does that, but he just cackles and kisses me. Disgusting.) because at first you gag and try to spit it out, but all you need to do is just relax and let it slide down your throat. It's just easier to swallow and take it than it is to fight it and choke.

Or maybe that's a really, really bad analogy.

Fuck, it really is. You know what, forget I ever said anything.

Let's go back to the subject of all of my friends finding out about my depraved sexual relationship with a psychotic non-human. Yeah, that's more interesting than hearing my sick mind twisting a perfectly normal reaction into something so degenerate.

And you know, as always, it was Grimmjow's fucking fault.

* * *

It was that woman with the big tits that found out. The girl with the brown-red hair and the stupid fairy things that brought my arm back. Inoue.

I hated her.

I hated the love she had for him. It was stifling. I could see it in her eyes every time she looked at him. I could feel it in the air whenever she talked to him. I think he knew. I think he liked it, on some level.

And that's why he kissed her.

It was only on the cheek, but it was enough.

That one little act cemented my hatred, and I swore that if she touched him again I would destroy her, alliances be damned.

The only thing that stopped me from cutting her head off was the fact that I'd never get to fuck Kurosaki again if I actually went through with it. So I stopped myself. I controlled myself.

It was an unusual sensation. Usually, I do whatever the fuck I want. Even when Aizen ruled over me, whenever he gave me a command I didn't want to follow, I didn't follow it. After all, what did he know? He was only a fucked-up shinigami who thought he could rule three worlds at once. An imperious asshole.

Here, no one was like that. No one gave me orders apart from _Don't kill the humans, no matter how much they annoy you._

The shinigami didn't interfere with what I did unless they wanted me to train with them; otherwise I had nothing else to do. They didn't let me kill hollows because it meant the souls wouldn't ascend to Soul Society. Kurosaki and his little groupies had school. The creepy sandal-hat guy was always up to something shady, and his scheming reminded me too much of Aizen for me to like him much. Neliel just plain pissed me off – she'd come with the shinigami too, leaving Hueco Mundo. Inoue had healed the scar in her mask and now she was back to how she used to be: stuck-up, cold and prissy. I wanted nothing to do with her.

So I slept. I ate. I went wandering the streets in my spirit form, looking at different humans and placing them on lists of who I'd kill, who I'd fuck and who I'd fuck then kill. But that wasn't much fun.

The only times I enjoyed myself was when I was either fighting or fucking Kurosaki.

The brat was getting better with his shikai, but I was still superior. And now I doubly hated the Inoue woman because she took away all of the injuries I dealt him and I couldn't see them painted all over the canvas of his body when we were together at night; it got to the point where I told her to stop fucking healing him and to let him get over it on his own, like a real warrior should.

She looked at me with wide, confused eyes, but she wasn't frightened of me. That hatred, it was building up. I knew it would all come out one day and I would hurt someone for it.

I couldn't wait.

The way they all found out about it, it still makes me laugh.

Fuck, the look on her face!

So, I'll tell you another story.

Picture it: we're sleeping together, me and Kurosaki. He's on his side, his back to me; one of my arms is thrown over his waist; I can feel the warmth of him seeping into me, and it isn't half bad.

I'm in my human body. He gets freaked out by the hollow hole. Sometimes I take his hand and pull it through the thing, just to see the look on his face. It always cracks me up.

But tonight, we're both humans, or we pretend to be. I'm just about to fall asleep.

Then, I hear front door open.

His friends, they're all got keys to his house now, and his family's used to seeing them.

The stamp of hurried footsteps up the staircase.

An unsure pause.

They come this way. The door opens. I see her, silhouetted in the dim light coming from the window.

Inoue.

"Kurosaki-kun…"

She steps forward and sees us together.

Her mouth opens but the words completely die. Her expression – I've never seen someone so stunned in all my existence.

I can hear all the breath leave her body at once; her face, it's so completely…

Oh, I can't even describe it.

But just try to imagine. Imagine that the person you've been in love with for months, someone you'd die for, imagine that you'd just walked in on them sleeping with someone else. Imagine your reaction. Imagine the look on your face.

That was what it was like.

Fucking _hilarious._

By now I'm wide awake. I'm staring at her. She's staring back, her mouth opening and closing, her eyes watering –

Confusion.

Shock.

The there's disbelief and betrayal and grief, and _it tastes so sweet._

My eyes say, _You can't have him._

_He's mine._

"No…" she whispers.

I smile at her, and gently nibble on his earlobe. He mumbles a little and shifts. It looks like a knife's been stabbed into her heart.

My arm tightens around him and I turn him to me; I kiss his shoulder, his neck, his jaw, tiny, feathery touches that always get him hot. His breathing gets heavier and he arches his neck deliciously, exposing it to me fully.

The knife twists, and she covers her mouth with both hands, body stiff with anguish. I've never seen someone look so horrified.

I flip him on his back and pull the sheets down to his hips, and I drape myself over him. I make sure she's watching. I drag my tongue over his cheek, slow, sweet, luscious; my eyes locking onto hers, never looking away, I kiss him: possessively, deeper and more hungrily than I ever have when we're alone. He moans and his eyes flicker open.

She stumbles back and flees.

"Ungh…"

Kurosaki. He's awake.

"Grimmjow…?"

I love it when he sounds like that. Rough, groggy, sexy.

"Grimmjow." He pushes me away, weakly. He's still half-asleep. "Grimmjow, what is it?"

I laugh, quietly, reliving her reaction and reveling in it. "Nothin'. Don't worry yer pretty little head."

He cocks his head and just raises an eyebrow. "Hm. Really?"

"Really," I murmur. "Shut up, would ya?"

Kurosaki smiles at me lazily and pulls my head down for a kiss. His hands ghost over the skin of my back and tangle in my hair, his legs entwine with mine, his hips buck up and oh shit, he's hard already-

He pushes me to the side and presses me to onto my back. One of his hands slips down slyly between by legs and his hands encircle me – but he's not soft, he's not gentle. My eyes roll to the back of my head, eyelids fluttering closed, I can't help the moan that escapes me. I hear him laugh under his breath and the strokes become harder, more insistent, until heat's pooling in my groin, I can't speak, nothing comes out apart harsh gasps and pants – my hips snap up and I hiss, gripping the sheets with white-knuckled fists.

Fuck, he's really gotten good at that.

With his clean hand he takes my chin and forces me to look at him, and I watch as he grins and licks his fingers, sliding them one by one into his mouth and sucking them clean. If I could've, I would have come all over again.

He moves forward until he's looming above me, desire burning like an out-of-control fire in his eyes. He presses his lips to mine. His tongue invades my mouth and it tastes salty and bitter. It turns me on more than it should. I grab his ass and almost flip us over, but he stops me, pushing me on my back and pinning me down, spreading me apart with wet, nimble hands.

Ah. So _that's_ what he wants.

I just sigh and lie back. Sometimes it's fun, to let him do what he wants. For a supposedly pure, virginal boy, he sure had some naughty ideas when we started having sex. And he's only gotten worse.

Or better, I should say.

He kisses down my chest, licks my nipples until I'm panting under him, then chuckles under his breath again and lets his tongue trail down the lines of muscle in my abdomen. He bites down on my hips, scraping his teeth against the skin, and then his hot, wet lips engulf my hard cock and I hiss and arch against him. My hands grip his head and push him down; he smacks them away. He knows what he's doing.

Oh holy _shit_ does he know what he's doing.

"Ah, fuck, Ichigo-"

It's the only time I say his name.

I don't think he notices.

I don't think he cares.

And me – I'm too far gone to feel anything about it. The sight of his head bobbing up and down between my legs, the feeling of his tongue licking, his mouth suckling, his ragged breaths and the tiny noises he makes – it's not long until it all becomes too much and I snarl, spilling myself into his mouth. He doesn't choke, not anymore. He sucks it down and I can feel the movement of his throat against my cock, and fuck, I wish I had no recovery time, I wish I could come into that mouth over and over again, fuckfuckfuck-

It's a breathy whisper, full of things I can't name.

"Ichigo-"

He moves away and wipes his mouth, glances at me blandly before rummaging in his bedside cabinet and pulling out a small bottle. He opens it and smothers his fingers in the liquid that comes out, before spreading my legs further apart and hiking them over his shoulders.

"Don't complain if it hurts," he grunts. "You've done this to me enough; it's about time I paid you back."

Oh _fuck_ yes.

I love it when he gets like this.

I love the look on his face: like he's an animal – no human courtesies here, no heroics, no fright or apprehension.

He's grown up.

Little Kurosaki Ichigo, righteous, self-important shinigami, has finally turned into a fucking man.

And I'm the one who did it.

I clench my jaw as he slides in – no fingering, hardly any preparation, he just starts fucking me hard, hips pushing in until he completely fills me up. At first it burns a little but then I feel it, I feel him, and it's like my spine's been electrified, my body's on fire and covered in ice at the same time.

In the world there's nothing but me and him on that bed, nothing but his body inside mine, and I can't feel anything else. I don't want to. The head of his cock brushes against that tiny, sensitive spot over and over again and I want to die, I'm going to die, and it's the best way to go – staring up at his face, frowning, sweaty, biting down on his lip, eyes half-closed. I'm sure it's what my face looks like. I can't speak. Nothing but incoherent noises come out of my mouth. I don't dare close my eyes – the sight of Kurosaki above me, muscles twitching, straining, darkened by shadow-

He looks like _sex._ Like he should be doing this to me, with me, all the time. Never leaving me. Always here, in my arms-

His hands are planted securely on either side of my head and he's thrusting so hard the bed's starting to squeak, but he's too far gone to care. He's buried deep inside me, breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his forehead; I reach up and brush away some hair that's hanging in his eyes at the exact moment he stiffens and gasps, sagging against my chest. His heart's beating so hard I can feel it more than I can feel my own.

Kurosaki pulls out and collapses on top of me, eyes closed and still panting. After a minute or two his breathing slows and evens, and he's almost asleep but I move a little because I'm starting to feel pretty fucking gross, the lube and his come sticky between my thighs, and he stirs and looks up. It's only a fleeting look but it's enough – his eyes open wide and he sits up suddenly.

"Shit!" he exclaims. "The – when did the door open?!"

Oh yeah. The Inoue woman…she did it…

The thought of it makes me gleeful.

I smile. "Dunno. Maybe all that fucking caused some vibrations in the house or something?"

He doesn't laugh and only curses and gets up, pulls on the boxers he'd thrown to the floor, peeks outside before closing the door softly.

The bed is too cold without him.

He directs a scowl at me. "It's a good thing my sisters aren't here, otherwise I'd throw you out for choosing a night like this."

"Please. You're noisy when you fuck, I'm sure they know what's going on by now."

His face turns pale. "Whatever." Kurosaki covers up his unease by looking at the clock. His scowl gets darker. "Huh. School in two hours. Might as well just get up."

No.

Come back to bed, fucker.

The corners of his lips twitch upwards. "I'm gonna take a bath. You need to clean up, too. And we shouldn't waste water…"

The smile on his face can only be described as lewd. He's got a sick mind, this one - and you know, the dirtier he gets, the more I like him.

But I'm not sure that's a good thing. I'm not sure it's a good thing at all.


	3. failing

Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach** and am making no money writing fanfiction.

* * *

We spend more time than we should in that bath. By the time I get out, I have an hour left and my skin's as wrinkled as a prune. When I leave for school I have to resist the urge to kiss Grimmjow goodbye, because we're not some fucking married couple and I owe him nothing.

But now I think I really should have kissed him or something, at least enjoyed that morning a bit more, because it turned out to be the beginning of a really, really shitty day. First period, and Chad's not there. Ishida isn't there. Inoue doesn't look at me. Rukia…I've never seen her like that before.

Angry isn't the way to describe it. Raging, maybe. Livid. _Incandescent with fury_ is good too.

At break she confronts me in some hallway – Inoue's with her, there's no one else around because it's a nice day and everyone else is outside taking advantage of the sunshine. I'm practically backed into a corner, and she's like a wild animal. And not in the fun kinky way.

"So, Ichigo," she says, in a voice like ice. Coldness suits her. Her zanpakuto couldn't be more fitting. "Where were you last night?"

What?

Does she-

No.

She can't.

I shrug, trying to look casual. "At home. Studying. Sleeping. Like a normal teenage boy."

"Really."

"Yeah, really." I raise an eyebrow, eyes flickering between Rukia and Inoue. "Why, is something wrong?"

Inoue wilts. There's a look in Rukia's eyes that makes my heart beat faster, and I straighten.

"Rukia, what is it? What happened?"

She crosses her arms. "Last night there was an attack. Arrancar. Strong ones. They could hide their spiritual pressure completely, and we were taken by surprise. It was late, but everyone turned up. Everyone," She nails me with a look that so accusing, so disappointed, it almost stops my heart, "everyone except you, Ichigo."

Shit.

Shitshitshit.

"What happened?" I ask urgently. Shit. Shit. Why didn't anyone _tell_ me?!

"Aizen's getting experimental." Something troubled flickers in her eyes. "There were at least half a dozen of them, and we were outnumbered. Sado and Ishida fell, but they're recovering. Renji barely made it. _I_ barely made it. Without Urahara or Yoruichi-san there, we would have died."

She pauses. The look on my face must have been agonizing, because there's a hint of pity in her expression, but her voice is still hard. "We needed you, Ichigo."

Oh, fuck-

"Ichigo, you should have been there."

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" My voice cracks. "You could have sent me a message, you could have _sent_ someone-"

"We did," she says flatly. "Inoue went to your house to get you. We couldn't spare anyone else."

Inoue?

When did she-

"Kurosaki-kun," says Inoue, in a very, _very_ small voice; she doesn't meet my eyes. "I saw you. Last night."

She saw…?

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh fuck no…

"Saw me?" I say, in a slightly strangled voice. "You…well…I…"

"With _him."_

"W-who?" A desperate, futile attempt to save myself.

"Stop it, Ichigo!" Rukia snaps. Her whole body is rigid, and I'm seriously scared she might attack me. "For god's sake, stop it! We _know!"_

I don't reply.

What can I say?

"I've heard of that human saying – _sleeping with the enemy_ – but this is taking it too far, far too literally," says Rukia in a venomous voice. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I don't know." My reply is faint.

"No, you know exactly what you're doing," she rebuts. "You're not a child. You can't plead ignorance. You know perfectly well what you're doing, and that is _selfishly putting yourself and your own pleasures above the safety of everyone else."_

What do I say to that?

"What you're doing is dangerous, Ichigo. He's an arrancar. A _hollow."_

"I know."

"You _know?"_ she snaps. "Oh, so you _know._ Then tell me, why do you do it?!"

"I…I don't know."

A lie. I do know. I know _exactly_ why. But would they understand? The fuck they would – they think I'm crazy already, they think I've lost my mind. They don't get it at _all._

My job is to protect. My mother died to protect me – the only way I can repay that crushing debt is to make sure no one I know or care about ever gets hurt, so that her death wasn't for nothing. If people get hurt when I'm supposed to be protecting them, there's no point in my being alive, there's no point in my mother having given up her life to save me – if I fail at what I was born to do, there's no reason for her sacrifice.

That's my logic.

And now, this…my friends almost got killed. Because I wasn't there. They needed me. And I wasn't there.

There is nothing Rukia could say or do to make this worse for me. She knows I'll scold myself enough. And she knows that I deserve it, every second of torturing and blaming and punishing myself. So she leaves, Inoue by her side, not looking back once.

Inoue…

Oh, fuck.

How could this have happened?

When did Inoue go there?

_And why didn't Grimmjow tell me?_

I don't know if Inoue would have told more than Rukia about me and Grimmjow.

I don't know whether Renji and Ishida and Chad know that I wasn't there to help them because I was too busy having sex with someone who had tried to destroy me and my friends time and time over again.

I don't know if they blame me for their injuries. I don't know how I can make it up to them. I don't know how I can wash away this guilt and sin and get everything back to rights.

I don't know anything.

My life is fucked up.

I'm fucked up.

And Grimmjow, he-

When I set foot in the Urahara Shoten a few days later, I can tell by the looks Urahara and Yoruichi give me that they know.

Chad, Renji and Ishida are bandaged, relatively healthy and recovered, and are playing a card game around the table. They're arguing loudly over the rules. They don't see me. Urahara does, and gives me a look from under the brim of his hat that says everything that needs to be said. Yoruichi does the same, her golden eyes shrewd.

I avoid their gaze and go sit down with the guys. "Hey."

They go silent.

I swallow, nervous. "I…a few days ago…I heard about the fight-"

"Did you." Ishida says, eyes piercing. Chad says nothing. Renji raises an eyebrow. Oh fuck, they can see right through me. I've always been shit at this lying crap. And they know it.

"Where were you, Ichigo?" Renji asks.

I take a deep breath. "The fight…I was…I…"

I can't finish. There's a lump in my throat and the words won't come out. I can see it in their eyes. They know. They _know._

"You were with Grimmjow," Chad says.

Oh god.

I can't breathe.

"I…um…I…"

Chad puts a hand on my shoulder. He looks at me with placid dark eyes: he's not upset, he's not angry. He doesn't blame me. He doesn't _understand,_ but he's willing to listen.

I instantly feel better. Chad, he's magical. He always knows what to do to put me at ease. If he supports me, I can do anything.

I gather my strength, knowing that I have at least _one_ person on my side. "How…how long have you known?"

Ishida's blue eyes are darker than Grimmjow's, a deep rich royal blue, and his words are frank. "I've suspected for a while. He kept… _looking_ at you. And you looked back. It was…a feeling."

"Yeah," says Renji. "He always seemed a little _too_ obsessed with you. But it's weird. Really weird. I never thought it would develop into – into whatever you have."

"Kurosaki, do you know what you're doing?" Ishida inquires bluntly.

No.

"Yes," I say. "It's just…releasing tension. We just fuck." They wince. "There're no strings attached. No emotions involved. I don't even like him."

"It could turn dangerous," Renji says, and he looks wary. Sharp. For the first time, I realize how old he really is. He's at least ten times my age. And he looks like he knows what he's talking about. It's not a nice thought.

But I hide my discomfort by rolling my eyes. "Like I said, there's nothing between us but sex."

"Sex can turn into other things, sometimes," he replies quietly, a serious look on his face.

It makes me snort. "Renji, we're talking about Grimmjow here. He's a hollow. Ruthless, uncaring, callous arrancar Grimmjow. There's no way he can feel deep human emotions like _affection_ and _love."_

"I'm not just talking about Grimmjow."

Oh fuck, he better not be saying what I think he is. "Shut up, Renji. Don't you think I have more sense than that?"

He's scornful. "I'm not so sure now, no. You've gotten yourself into a really goddamn sticky situation here, Ichigo. And you don't know how it'll turn out. _He's a hollow."_

"I know that!" I snap. "I _know_ he's a hollow, I see it every time we fight, I see it every time I look at his face and see his mask, I see it every time that huge fucking hole in the middle of his gut shows up, OK? I know I'm being stupid. I know it's dangerous. But it's…I…"

Ishida asks, "Why do you do it?"

"I don't know," I sound weary, defeated, because _there is no answer._ "I don't. Please don't ask me that."

"You'll get hurt," Renji says. "He's not a human. He doesn't understand humanity."

Oh, for god's sake.

"I don't know if you remember this, _Renji,_ but the first time I met you, you weren't all that nice about humans either," I snarl. "Actually, I don't think I've met a shinigami that _doesn't_ feel superior to humans."

He reddens but doesn't rise to the bait: he knows I'm right, but there are more pressing issues to attend to here. "Ichigo, I'm trying to be reasonable. I'm trying to show you what the fuck you're doing. That hollow…he'll use you and get bored of you and throw you away like a toy."

"I know."

"And you carry on anyway."

"Yeah."

He shakes his head and rubs the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "You're insane. Completely fucking lost your mind."

I hang my head. I'm not pretending: I really am ashamed. Of all the creatures in the universe, I had to choose Grimmjow. Not Inoue, not Rukia, not even a guy I knew who was sane, but _Grimmjow._

"Also, Kurosaki," Ishida breaks the silence, looking a little curious. "I didn't know you were gay."

I turn red. "I didn't, either. I…don't think I am. It's not we like each other, Ishida, it's just sex!"

"So you having sex with a male doesn't make you gay?" He pushes up his glasses. "What interesting logic."

"Well…I dunno…" I struggle to explain it, but it's hard: I don't even know what I'm talking about, because it's not an issue that Grimmjow's a _guy,_ it's more of an issue that he's a psychopath and would probably kill me if I annoyed him too much. "It's not like I thought much about this…this sorta stuff before, anyway. I was too preoccupied with seeing ghosts and shit. I..."

I pause, and then say, in a voice that cracks embarrassingly, "And I...guys, I'm really sorry. About the fight. I…I should've been there to help."

They don't say anything. They already know I've been wandering around school wallowing in self-pity for at least two or three days, they know I blame myself for everything that happened to them, and they know they won't be able to talk me out of it. All they can do is forgive me.

"It's OK," Renji says finally, grinning and punching me in the arm. "We'll let you off this time, yeah? But if you do it again I'll flay you alive and use you as a rug. And if I die I'll tell Captain Kuchiki to do it for me, and he'll be only too happy."

His tone is light but he's totally serious.

"Yeah," I reply, smiling weakly. "Thanks."

"Besides," he says breezily. "Wasn't too bad. Just a few cuts and scrapes."

Ishida sniffs. "You pretty much had your arm sliced off, Abarai, what are you talking about?"

Renji scowls at him. "Yeah, well, I wasn't the one who almost got blasted away by a cero when my outfit got caught on a stray nail!"

"I _told_ you not to wear a cape, Ishida," Chad says mildly.

I laugh as they start to argue again. My heart feels lighter than it has for a long time. I had expected Rukia-level anger, or Inoue-level awkwardness. But Chad and Ishida and Renji – they acknowledge it and they move on. They know what I'm like. They know I never learn until I'm hurt. I know it too, and I curse myself for being so stupid.

But there's something _about_ him-

Rukia was only worried about me, I know that. She knows what I'm doing is dangerous, she knows I'm being blind and stupid. And she was angry not only because I was an idiot, but because I didn't tell her about from the start. She was hurt that I didn't trust her.

And it's unfair. I should tell her everything. I should tell them _all_ everything. Because it's strange, how these people can make me feel better even when they don't try to. It's why they're my friends, I guess. I really should listen to them more – they only want the best for me. They know what they're talking about. They're not blinded by lust or aggression. They're not idiots, like me. Not most of the time, anyway.

"How," Ishida asks suddenly, "did Inoue take it?"

Oh god.

"She…well, she…"

"She's in love with you," says Renji.

"I know."

"You're an idiot."

"I know. But…I don't love her back. Not like that."

"Have you told her?" Chad asks.

I close my eyes. "I'm pretty sure she knows, now. She…since she was the first one who found out about me and…and him. I guess…I guess I need to talk to her. About this. I…I just don't know what to say about it."

They all look at me with a mixture of pity and exasperation. They say nothing, because they know: what words could make me feel better?

It cuts through me, a moment of crystal-clear clarity. I know what I need to do. I need to end it. Finish it. Cut him off, away from my life, like a gangrenous limb. He's bad for me, for everything – my mental health, my _physical_ health, my relationships. Fuck. _Everything._

I told myself there, that was where it stopped. An addiction I could control; all you have to do is give it up and you'll be fine. Ignore the cravings. Stop looking at him. Stop thinking about him. Stop reliving the memories, the dreams, the feel of his lips on yours and his hands running through your hair and you'll be OK.

I'll be OK.

One day.

So I try. I avoid him. I close my eyes when I see him, I close my ears when I hear his voice, I smack his hands away when he tries to touch me. When he throws a punch I dodge and move away as fast as I can.

After a day or two he gets what I'm trying to do. He understands, and he stops coming after me. Stops completely. He leaves me the fuck alone.

That, more than anything, is worrying.

I can't help what I do, all right? It's deeper than anything, the instinct to be near him. You hear teachers and psychologists and all those people saying, next to survival and food, sexual hunger is one of the strongest fucking feelings you can have. I'd never believed them before. I thought, bullshit. How couldn't you control this? You don't think about them, don't speak about them, don't go near them. It'd fade. That's what I thought, that's what I _knew._

So when I can't even hold out for two weeks, it makes me feel disgusted with myself.

Where's my determination now? My willpower? It's gotten me through so much more, through more than it should have. And now, faced with this stupid shit of an asshole, it crumbles to the ground and I'm nothing more than a horny, repressed teenage boy aching for something he could reach out for and take so easily, but can't have. _Shouldn't_ have.

Forbidden fruit is the sweetest kind. Doing something bad always makes your heart pound and the adrenaline rush. Like fighting, like having sex; with Grimmjow, it all melds together, it's all the same. What I have with him can't be described in words.

You just have to look at my face, at the bruises, at the cuts, the stupid shit-eating grin I wear when we lunge and cut and scream abuse at each other; you look at that, you'll know. You'd work it out.

They've all worked it out.

Inoue.

Oh, Inoue. I'm so sorry. You know that, right? I never meant to hurt anyone. But I'm an idiot. A reckless, hot-headed, stupid idiot. That's why you deserve someone so much better than me.

What I deserve is a piece of shit like Grimmjow.

But hey, I'm not complaining.

Much.

* * *

After the fight where his friends got injured, Kurosaki avoids me. He doesn't train. He doesn't look at me. His friends tactfully say nothing, they look away when I confront him, they shut their eyes to it when we fight.

I insult him, attack him, try get him back. But after a few days of nothing working, I figure, _Fine._

_Fine, you little shit._

_I'll stay away, and then you'll see how much ya need me._

And fuck, it works!

A week or two later, he comes back.

But he doesn't crawl. He doesn't beg. His brown eyes are blazing and we fight, clawing and kicking and punching, drawing blood from lips and skin; but somehow it turns to kissing. His hands press against me, against the places where I'm most sensitive, he tastes like desperation and desire, and all of a sudden he's fucking me on the goddamn floor there and then – in that huge storeroom of the Urahara Shoten, surrounded by dusty boxes, the noises we make echoing in that vast space. The floor was cold and hard, there was no lube, it stung and I didn't mind a bit.

And I just take what I've been given. I _take_ and I _take_ and I _take._

Kurosaki just keeps fucking giving.

So the months go by, and we keep doing it. Keep meeting up at random places, at his house, and we keep having sex.

It's good. Better than good. With every night he gets more experience, he gets kinkier, he gets wilder. I know him inside out. He knows me inside out. It's a good system, because it makes the sex so good it feels like the world is going to implode.

His human friends and the shinigami know. The shinigami with the hollow masks know. Even his fucking family knows.

They know now I'm not going away anytime soon. They know, me and Kurosaki, there's something that ties us together; something about him that won't let go of me, just like he can't shake me from his mind.

They can't get rid of me, so they ignore me.

That suits me fine. All I want is the sex. I don't care about their acceptance, their disapproval. All I want is Kurosaki's body. His mind. His hear-

And I already have them.

So there's nothing to worry about.

We're as rough as each other. I leave bruises, swollen lips, blackened eyes. He likes it rough. He's not a pussy, not when it comes to sex.

In return he ties me up, he tortures me, he teases me; and it's enough. It clears our heads: after you have an orgasm the world seems much, much simpler. Your problems seem tiny and inconsequential. All you want, all you crave, is to feel that mind-numbing euphoria again. You want to feel like your body has turned to mush. You want to hear your heart beat so fast, your muscles tense so hard, that you think you're going die.

Every time I look at him, that hunger is all I can feel.

I look at his hands and imagine them on my hips, wound in my hair; I look at his mouth and I see it sucking me off; those eyes, glazed over with lust-

I don't know when the urge to destroy him become something different.

I still hate him.

I _hate_ him.

But when it's all over, when his chest is heaving against mine and his eyes are drooping shut, I can't stop thinking. Thinking things that make no sense. Thinking things that it's not right for a hollow to think about.

His skin is warm against mine and his lips are soft and his eyes, sometimes they can be brittle like rusted steel and other times-

What the fuck am I talking about.

* * *

 

Kurosaki is so fucking comfortable.

His body fits right into mine. I'm not gonna go the way of the cliché so many people use – like we're parts of that stupid thing, what's it called, a jigsaw puzzle – or that we were made for each other or some shit like that. No. He's just comfortable.

Especially in these cold times. Winter in the human world sucks shit.

I let myself get drunk on the feeling of him. His hands, running down my back; his mouth, wet and soft, sucking hickies all over my neck; orange hair between my fingers, smooth skin under my palm, the _thump thump thump_ of his heart when we finish and he lies so close to me our legs are tangled and I feel like I'm trapped in something I can't escape. Something I don't want to escape.

At the back of my mind something's screaming.

I'm an animal, in the end. Part of me doesn't like being caught like this, like I'm a meal lying on my back just fucking waiting for the next big predator with big teeth and sharp claws to dig into me.

Part of me hates that.

But it's a tiny portion. The bigger part is loving it.

The animal likes lying down and being petted and stroked. That's what Kurosaki's doing, scratching it behind its ears and rubbing its belly and keeping it warm and purring. Defenseless. Unfuckingcaring.

Fuck.

I think I've turned suicidal.

This fucking thing with Kurosaki, whatever it is. Whatever you want to call it.

I can't escape, not now I've been dragged under so deep.

To let go. To go with the flow. That's what they say in this world; don't fight. Just let things happen.

That's what I've been doing. And look where it's gotten me. Kurosaki curled up and sleeping like a baby, snoring in my ear. And I don't even mind.

What the fuck is he doing to me, and why don't I care more?

* * *


	4. feeling

Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach** and am making no money writing fanfiction.

* * *

I admit it, I'm weak when it comes to Grimmjow. I don't know what it is about him that makes me like this. Moody, horny, temperamental, indecisive – fuck, I hope he hasn't impregnated me or some shit. Eugh. That would be too far.

But who knows, with that weird hollow body he's got. Who knows how they reproduce! They could be like, I dunno, some kind of fish or whatever, that tricks the female into some accepting its sperm and then just runs the fuck away like there is no responsibility. Like it's not a father.

Aw, ew ew ew he could've implanted some eggs or whatever into me and now I'm going to swell up like a fucking balloon and have weird human-kitten hybrid babies arghhh-

I can just imagine it. I'd be the bitch (why am I always the bitch?!) and I'd have to wear a fucking maid outfit and cook and clean for him and he'd come sauntering in from a hard day at work and expect me to have the dinner ready on the table and then I'd have to put the kids to sleep and _then_ be all horny and ready to fuck in the evening and what am I even thinking.

I think I've been having too much sex. The sleep deprivation is clearly killing my brain, because I don't think about how weird our relationship seems to outsiders anymore. Somehow it's become almost normal for him to stay over at my house, to sleep in my bed, to eat at the table. My family knows him by name. They know what he is to me, they know what he really is, they know he's a hollow and a maniac and a psychopath and kind-of-sort-of with me, and they accept it.

I love my family. I've never been so grateful for my sisters or my dad. I don't know what I would do without them to keep me sane. My family life, my school life, it balances out the insanity of being a Shinigami. Just going home and doing homework and eating dinner and watching TV and fighting dad – sometimes I can pretend nothing ever happened. That nothing ever changed.

But then I see blue hair and blue eyes and I don't regret a thing I've done. Not one. And to tell the truth, it kind of disturbs me.

* * *

A slow Sunday morning. It's raining, cold, wet, windy.

Just the sort of weather we both hate.

I'm sitting on the sofa in Kurosaki's house, watching TV. A movie. Something about war and blood and violence.

The look on those guys' faces when they get blown up makes me laugh.

The sound of their screams makes me itch for a fight.

I poke Kurosaki. He's stretched out across the sofa, his head on my lap, reading something boring and full of numbers.

He scowls and peers up at me. "What?"

"Let's fight."

"No. I've got Math homework to do. Go annoy Urahara if you want a fight."

"I hate that creepy fuck. It's impossible to annoy him."

"Renji's training with Shinji and the others. Join _them."_

"I don't want to fight that pineapple-headed dipshit," I growl. "He pisses me off."

"Everyone pisses you off."

That's true.

"Kurosaki, you're getting soft."

"What I'm _getting_ is lower marks in Math," he says, going back to concentrating on his numbers. "Go masturbate if you're that full of tension."

"I don't want sex, you stupid shit, I want a _fight._ I want blood. I want fear." My fingers sneak up and pull at his hair, forcing his head back. I sneer, baring teeth. "Don't think you can fucking tame me. I'm doing this because I'm bored. I'm doing this because all I want from you is sex. Got that?"

His eyes narrow. "Yeah."

"Good." I let go. Look back at the screen. Shit, I missed the firing squad. "Fuck, go and get me a drink, will you?"

"I thought all you wanted was sex." His voice is dripping with sarcasm.

"I do. But right now I also want a coke. So go get me one."

He rolls his eyes and gets up – before he turns away I grab his head and kiss him, biting down on his lip sharply and drawing blood. I lick it away and grin, feral. I love the taste of his blood. I love the taste of him. Somehow, it fills me with energy.

"Actually, forget the coke," I mutter, pulling him back onto my lap. "Let's just fuck."

"Not _here-"_

"Why not?" I smirk. "We've done it in worse places."

He turns a fantastic shade of red. "Shut up, my sisters are home!"

"Mmm, you've never minded before…"

"Gri- argh, not the neck!" He bats me away. "What the fuck are you, a vampire?!"

"Would ya like that?" I ask huskily, rubbing him through his jeans. "Me, with fangs? You like the thought of me drinking all your blood like that, huh? 'Til you're sucked dry-"

"Shut up." His voice is rough. He's hard. Oh, Kurosaki, you're so fucking predictable. Just a few seconds of dirty talk and you're as horny as a whore.

He doesn't let me fuck him on the couch. I don't mind, really, it's not all that comfortable. We're both too big to do what we really want without falling off the damn thing and breaking something. The bed – that's best.

His dad's in the clinic, his sisters are in their room.

He tells me to be quiet or he'll gag me.

I tell him I'll scream on purpose just to fuck with them.

"You be quiet," he murmurs against my lips, hands already undoing my belt, "and I'll let you do whatever you want."

Huh.

I like the sound of that.

_"Any_ thing?" I purr. "Anything at all?"

"Mmm…"

"I could tie you up?"

"If you want," he breathes.

"Handcuff you?"

"Why not."

"Spank you?"

He grins.

Oh, this is gonna be fun.

* * *

When I wake up, my wrists are still burning. The skin is red, my limbs are stiff and Grimmjow's lying with his back to me, deeply asleep. His hair's a mess.

My bed is too goddamn small for this sort of crap. I shouldn't have let him do all that stuff while my sisters are still at home. Bondage is time-consuming, after all, and if someone walks in on you in the middle of it, there's no fucking way you can explain your way out of the situation. They'd be scarred for life.

Oh, my poor sisters. I just thank god that they know not to interrupt me when my door is locked.

God, what's wrong with me?

I stretch experimentally and Grimmjow moves a little, snorting. I lay still, watching as the muscles in his back twitch and tense. I reach out and just gently place my fingertips on his skin, drawing them down the dip of his spine. He stops squirming.

Without really being aware of what I'm doing, I start to lightly trace the outline of where his hollow hole should be. Where his tattoo should be. The skin there is tanned and smooth to the touch, but it seems…unfinished. Empty.

I don't know whether I like or dislike his hollow hole. It freaks me out, it's a constant reminder that he's my natural enemy - and yet, he doesn't seem quite normal without it. The same with the mask. It's a bitch to kiss him with that sharp, pointy, bony thing poking my face, but I kinda like the feel of it. It's sort of like porcelain: cold and smooth. And it suits him, too. Even though he's just as good-looking without it.

I visualize his face – his eyes, his hair, his mouth, his nose, and I change my mind, he's better looking without the mask. I can see the whole of his face when it's not there. More skin to kiss.

"What're you doin'?"

My hand, still touching the skin on his back, freezes. "Uh…nothing."

He turns his head to look at me over his shoulder, voice gruff but blue eyes sharp. "Doesn't feel like nothing."

"Well, it _is_ nothing." _I will not blush, I will not blush, I will not blush._ "Just…go back to sleep."

"It feels weird."

I withdraw my hand.

He shoots me an annoyed look, but it's softened by his half-lidded eyes and lazy grin. "Didn't say you should _stop,_ dickhead."

I blink and almost smile. But then I remember that it's Grimmjow. You don't smile like that around Grimmjow.

So I just let my head rest against his shoulder, curl my hand against the base of his spine, and keep stroking the skin that wouldn't otherwise be there if he was really himself. I close my eyes.

It's like my stomach is knotting itself up. My chest aches. I don't know what it means.

"Grimmjow."

"Mmm."

"If you gave me another hickey I'll fucking kill you."

He laughs and this time I can't help from smiling.

* * *

His fingers ghost against my back, where the hole should be. His head rests against me, and I can feel the brush of his eyelashes and the press of his lips. Every touch feels like an electric shock.

I turn around so he's facing me. It's late. Still raining. I can hear the pitter-patter of it against the window. Dim gray light shrouded by the curtains gives his face an eerie look, and I take my time to stare at him.

When he sleeps he looks young.

Not like a shinigami. Just a boy.

It fucking weirds me out.

He has a pretty face. Long eyelashes. Full lips. Nice eyes, when he's not screwing them up in a frown. Soft skin.

I just place the backs of my fingers against his cheek, and he leans into the touch. Just a bit. He sighs, almost silently. Scrunches up his nose. Mutters something about bananas wearing sunglasses.

He always did have the weirdest fucking dreams.

I move a little closer to his body, not touching him, trying to keep warm.

But I'm too far away from him. I'm still too cold.

I hate this weather.

Closer.

Just a little closer-

And when I wake up it's still kinda gray outside and something fluffy is tucked under my chin. I groan. I open my eyes, and look down.

There's nothing but orange.

He's pressed close to me, flush against my chest, so close I can feel the beat of his heart. One of my arms is around his waist. The other is folded under my head. He's still asleep, taking deep even breaths, and once or twice he mumbles under his breath and snuggles against me-

Snuggles.

What a dumbass word.

What a dumbass position I'm in.

Fuck.

Why can't I move?

Shit.

This whole situation-

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. It doesn't help. His hair smells nice. Like…some kind of flower.

Don't ask me what kind. I don't know that sort of girly crap.

It's just nice, OK?

I should move.

I should get away from him.

I hate this.

But I like it, too.

Just, what the fuck?

I don't know what to call this feeling.

What is it, this sickness? This heaviness? Like my heart's beating so hard, so heavy, my chest tightens, I'm blinded to everything but him – when he walks into the room my eyes flicker to his body instantly, when he fucking talks to Abarai or Kuchiki and he laughs and smiles I wanna tear their heads off –

I don't know.

Kurosaki, he's sleeping so sound, I could kill him so easily.

I don't want him dead, though.

This would end.

The sex. The fun. And the-

Frustrating. Irritating. Infuriating. I mean, I'm a fucking _hollow._ I shouldn't-

His skin is so warm. His head is nestling under my chin so comfortably. He twitches a little and sighs.

"Grimmjow…"

Kurosaki says my name in a way I've never, ever heard before.

Soft, gentle, just a whisper. Tender. Almost-

Thank fuck he's still asleep. I don't know what I would've done to him if he wasn't.

I'm not even fucking kidding. I really don't know.

That one word, like a fucking spear to the chest.

One defining moment in which I realize everything, and that's when I start to worry.

But I don't move. I don't move away from him. I can, I could, but I don't.

That's what's so confusing.

Why him.

Why this.

Kurosaki's hand curls up against me and it's softer than anything I've felt. I take in my own and just squeeze gently. Not enough to hurt. He snorts a bit and wiggles, nuzzling into my neck.

Like my chest is melting.

This ain't good, but I can't help enjoying it.

* * *

When I wake up, Grimmjow's still beside me. Which is strange, because he never usually is. Gone out to kill a hollow, gone to annoy Urahara or Nel or someone else. Just _gone._ Never just sitting still, calm and thoughtful like now.

I can't tell what time it is, and it's still raining, which depresses me. What depresses me even more is that I've drooled on Grimmjow's chest while I was sleeping, but thank god, he hasn't noticed. I try and wipe it away surreptitiously but he catches the movement and turns to look down at me with those incredible eyes.

I could stare into them forever. I'm stuck; whenever he looks at me like that I can't move. I don't know what it is. Maybe magic. Maybe hypnosis. They're beautiful, and I'll never tell him I think that.

"What the hell is this?" Grimmjow asks, and sticks something up in front of my nose.

"It's a CD."

"I know that, dipshit. What's _on_ it?"

I peer at it in the dim light. "Um, a guy playing a saxophone."

"A…saxophome...?"

"Saxophone."

He rolls his eyes. "Whatever. What does it do?"

It's times like these he's almost a child. He has memories of being human, from all the souls he's eaten as a Hollow, but they're blurry and unspecific, and I have to remind myself that he's never felt real wind in his hair or real sun on his skin. Before coming to the real world he'd never seen a real tree or eaten ice cream or pizza. He didn't know how TVs or computers or radios worked. It was – still is – a whole new world for him, shiny and sparkling and full of unknown things.

Grimmjow gets excited about some really small, silly things, even though he never shows it. But I can tell. He loves hamburgers. And ketchup. Soccer. Coke. Cigarettes, unfortunately. I still don't know how he got a hold of _them_ – he must've found a secret stash and copied the people on TV.

Like a child. And I can't help finding it sorta…cute.

He's still scowling at the CD, probably wondering what the hell a saxophome is and why some dude who looks like Yammy has one stuck to his mouth.

"It's an instrument," I say, in the gentlest voice I can. He never likes being reminded of his ignorance. He eats everything up like the world's gonna end tomorrow.

Grimmjow cocks his head, still confused. "Huh? Like those…peeno things?"

"Piano. And yeah, except you don't hit anything, you blow through it. And the air makes a sound, and you change it by pressing those little buttons around it." I point at the CD cover. "See?"

"Yeah, I guess."

He's still bewildered, and trying to hide it. I smile without even thinking. "Wanna hear what it sounds like?"

"Whatever." He shrugs, looking casual. But his eyes follow me intently as I get up and pull on a pair of boxers, then slot the CD into my music player. In seconds, the room's filled with something sad and bluesy. If it had a color it would've been a jaded purple-blue, the color of smoke at twilight with the moon shining through.

After a minute I look at Grimmjow and stifle another smile.

He's completely enthralled. Eyes wide, face blank, knuckles white as he clutches the covers between his fingers. His hair's mussed up and hanging in his eyes, and there's no bone mask, no hole. I can pretend he's just a guy. Human.

It's such a tempting image I find myself walking back up to the bed and sitting next to him. Not doing anything, just listening to a man pouring out his heart and soul, quiet and contemplative and there's no blood between us. I realize that, suddenly. There's fire and passion and shit, but I don't want to hurt him anymore. I don't want to see him hurt. And I don't know if he feels like that too.

_"I fucking hate you, Kurosaki."_

He told me that once. He said it like it meant something else. I can't help hoping.

I feel something touch my hand, and I look down and Grimmjow's little finger is curled around mine. And I feel something in me flare up and all of a sudden I'm kissing him.

The kiss isn't rough or possessive like usual – slow and tender and sweet, exploring his lips like I've never tasted them before, not demanding anything, just asking. His hand comes up and cups the back of my neck and pulls me to him, and then we're on our sides, lying on the bed. My legs tangle around his like ivy. He's so solid. His arms are so warm. I could fool myself with fantasies of never leaving them.

But, you know, that's what they are.

Fantasies.

How the fuck could this work, anyway?

I never think. That's what everyone tells me. I just rush in and do shit and blow things up and cause a ruckus. And I _thought_ about this, I really did, I thought about it until my head hurt. And it's still nothing but complication.

So fuck it.

Just take what you got, Ichigo, and enjoy it while you can.

That's probably what mom would've said.

I wonder what she'd think of this.

"Kurosaki?"

The CD's still playing. We're just lying there.

"Yeah?"

"You got any more shit like that?"

"Sure. Lots. I got tons of CDs." I pause. "Er, tomorrow's Sunday, and I don't have school. So. Um. We can just listen to some stuff, and figure out…what you like. If you want."

Grimmjow closes his eyes and he thinks. For a second I'm scared that he'll sneer at me and brush it off. But he grins and those brilliant blue eyes flash at me and he says, "Yeah, why the fuck not."

And it's stupid and irrational and I shouldn't feel it, but the world seems much brighter afterwards.

* * *


	5. falling

**I do not own Bleach** and make no money from this.

* * *

 

For hours, we just listen. We lie there, on my bed, silent. Hours and hours and hours. I don't even know how many CDs we go through. Dozens, at least.

Grimmjow surprises me by preferring jazz to anything else. He likes classical, too. Pop irritates him; techno and dance music almost made him throw my stereo out the window. I would've thought he'd be the kinda guy to be all into heavy metal and punk rock – I could just see him dressed up like that, I dunno why – but no. Something smooth, melodic, relaxing: that seems to be more his thing.

I can just see him in my head now, stretched back on a sofa or on a bed with his arms crossed behind his head, eyes closed and listening to some Miles Davis or Mozart, tapping his foot in time to the beat. He's not what I imagined he would be at all. When he wears human clothes he keeps it simple and pretty elegant. He lets the hair and the eyes talk for him. He's got good taste, and it weirds me out. He looks like he should be trashy.

Right now, he's picking out clothes carefully. He takes his time when he does this, compares shirts to sweaters, matches the shoes and the belt, shit like that.

"Oi, that's my shirt!"

Grimmjow just smirks at me. It's his default expression but it's still irritating. "Yeah, but I suit it better. Green is not a good color on you."

"Oh yeah? And since when did you get to be the world's leading fashion expert?" I ask, snatching the shirt out of his hands and shoving it back in a drawer. "If you're gonna live here permanently, we need to get you some stuff."

"Who says I'm living here?" Grimmjow says, raising an eyebrow.

Those little words just make my stomach drop to my toes. My ears are burning, and for a second I can't say anything, there's a lump in my throat so big it's twisting everything up. I cough, and I don't look at him when I say, "No one. If you're not living here, piss off."

It comes out bitter and angry.

What the hell. Why do I even care where he lives?

"Can I?"

"Can you what?" I snap.

"Live here."

It brings me up short. I don't know what to say. I settle for, "But you stay with Urahara."

"I've had enough of that creep," Grimmjow says, scowling. "I hate him and those other fucking shinigami. They piss me off."

"I know that. Everyone pisses you off, even I piss you off!"

"Yeah, but at least with you I get sex." He grins and stretches, and I can feel my face go completely blank.

It's brutally simple.

_At least with you I get sex._

Of course, that's the only reason he'd stay.

"No," I say. "Go back to Urahara. This place is crazy enough as it is."

"Kurosaki-"

"Here." I shove some CDs into his arms and force him out the door. "Go listen to them over there. I've got homework to do."

"Fuck, hey-"

"Grimmjow, _get the hell out."_

Grimmjow takes one look at my face and frowns. He doesn't go. He whines and grumbles and curses until he's out the door, and then I lean against it and wait until I know he's gone away.

I hold my head in my hands. I can feel how soft his hair is through my fingers, how smooth his skin is against mine. His breath is hot against the back of my neck and his arms wind around my waist. We fit together perfectly. Dirty orange light comes through the curtains and I can't sleep at all, because I can feel _everything_. His chest moving as he breathes. His skin is warm, like a human's.

I don't know what to do.

This is so completely wrong. I need to stop.

I need to stop this.

I need to, but I don't want to. And I can't.

How the hell do you stop yourself falling from a cliff, anyway? I've looked over the edge. I saw the ground, I saw the distance. I've measured everything up, the good and the bad. I thought I knew what the fuck I was doing.

And I jumped anyway.

This is all my own fault. I can't expect anyone else to help me or to tell me what to do. I'll need to help myself.

And you see, I've told this to myself at least five million times before. I can never do it. I can't ever-

Shit.

I go back to my room, sit down on my bed and hold my head in my hands. I want this to end. I want it to go on forever. I wish I'd never started it and at the same time I don't regret a thing.

How is it possible that I could feel all of this? All these conflicting, confusing things? I don't get it. He's a psychopath, he's insane, murderous, violent. He doesn't even have any sort of charm to make up for it. No one should feel anything for someone like that, for someone so rude and unapologetic about it.

And yet, here I am.

What do you call it, when you're kind of on the edge of love? You're tiptoeing across the precipice, along the edge of the cliff. You can't see the sea beneath, you don't know if it's calm or stormy. You want to fall but you're scared: what if there's no one falling with you? What if there's no one to catch you?

What if, in the end, all you do is drown? There's no lifeline, no one to help you.

That's what I'm doing. I'm drowning.

And Grimmjow's not there to drown with me.

* * *

 

The sky is getting darker. I'm lying on my bed and watching the ceiling turn from gray to dark blue as the sun sets and takes its warmth with it. It's so quiet in my room that I think I can even hear my heartbeat.

Does Grimmjow have a heart?

I wonder about that a lot. I mean, he bleeds and everything, so he has a circulatory system. He must have. But what pumps the blood around his body? I don't understand it. Plus there's that giant hole in his gut but I really prefer not to think about it, that thing gives me the creeps.

The sudden shriek of my shinigami badge almost gives me a heart attack and I fall off my bed, gasping. I take the badge in my hand and I stare at it for a while, while it screams and screams. Then I press it to my chest and there it is, that dizzying, giddy feeling of weightlessness as my soul is pushed out of my body.

It always takes a second for everything to settle. My head has to stop spinning, I have to catch my breath; but after that, I usually shoot into action. I have to save the day, right?

This time though, I just stand there, looking at my body. It's lying on the floor of my bedroom, almost completely motionless. My eyes are closed. My chest is hardly rising. I look dead. The badge is still screaming.

I swallow and shake my head. This is stupid. There are hollows out there, hunting innocent souls. I'm there to stop that. What am I doing, just standing in my room like an idiot? People might already be hurt.

One last look at my body. I haul it up onto my bed and arrange it to look like I'm sleeping. I could use Kon but for some reason, tonight I'm not in the mood. I open the window, feel the cold air on my face. Without another thought in my head I frown, and leave.

* * *

I'm lying on the roof and the sun is setting. It's getting cold. The sky is all sorts of weird fucking colors. I've never seen anything like it before – pink and orange and yellow and red.

What the fuck, how is that even possible.

The human world is fucking insane. Even more than Hueco Mundo. At least there, things were simple.

Here, everything is fucked up. Sunsets and trees, cars and education and jobs. Diseases. Travel. Different countries and languages, different food, different people. It's all like…

I don't know how to describe. Like I've been blind until now. And now I've opened my eyes and all I can see is a gigantic fucking rainbow.

And I'm not sure I like it.

This place is crazy. Humans are crazy.

A little part of me still wishes I was a hollow. It wants to go back to the endless night and the hunger and the hunting. A simple life. Nothing complicated, like now. Because I'm feeling weird, new things, and I don't know what to call them.

I've heard of things like love and affection and caring. I knew the words. I didn't know the feeling.

Not until now.

"Grimmjow-san."

The shopkeeper again. I look down at him; he's peering up at me, fan shading his face.

"It's dinner time."

"I'll get my own goddamn food."

He shrugs. "Suit yourself."

He goes back inside, leaving me on my own. An icy wind blows and I wrap my arms around myself, bringing my knees up to my chest. I watch the city, watch as the sky turns orange-blue and lights twinkle on in buildings.

I want to go back to Kurosaki's. That little blonde sister of his makes good food. Here, it's a pile of shit.

And I like his bed. His bathroom is bigger, and doesn't smell suspicious like the one here. His house is…better. More…

More like a home.

I want to listen to more of that peeno stuff, too. Chopeen, or Chopin, or whatever. I like him. And the saxophome thingy.

The thing is, though, when I listen to that music I feel strange. Like everything's twisted up inside me. It hurts, but in a good way. Like hands are squeezing something inside my chest but really gently.

Something crackles in the air and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Kurosaki. He's in shinigami form. I feel his energy wash over me like warm water and those hands squeeze harder. I let out a deep breath and mist comes out of my mouth.

I watch it, fascinated. It kinds of drifts in the air for a bit before disappearing and I wonder where it goes. Kurosaki told me it was just water vapor or something like that but the fact is, shit like that still weirds me out.

The human world in general does. Ice falling from the sky: snow. Rain. Neon lights flashing and flashing all through the night. All these sounds, sights, colors; I'm living inside a rainbow. It gives me a fucking headache but I can't stop looking. I want to see, touch, taste, hear everything.

That freezing wind cuts through me again and I huddle closer to myself. It feels like the night is crushing me.

It was never like that, before.

In Hueco Mundo.

It was always night-time there, always dark. A sickle moon hanging in the sky at a crazy angle, dry grating sand beneath my feet, nothing but silence, hot blood on my hands and in my mouth; that was my life. Nothing like this.

I stand up and jump off the edge of the roof. It isn't really that high but when I drop down to the ground a shock runs up through my legs anyway, and I think about discarding this sack of useless meat they call a fake body. A million reasons why I should run through my head.

In the end I don't. I stuff my hands into the pockets of the leather jacket I stole from Kurosaki this morning and I walk.

I walk and walk and walk. There's no direction in my head, no purpose, no thinking about where I'm going. Above me in the trees, leaves are turning gold and yellow and red. Some of them fall to the ground like flakes of rust, swirling and twisting in the wind.

One drifts past me lazily. It's bright orange. I stop and watch it as it floats to the ground, and then I go and pick it up, turning it in my fingers. There aren't any dead parts on this leaf, no spots or blemishes. It's perfect.

I keep it and start walking again.

It gets colder.

It's only fall, why the fuck am I freezing my nuts off so fucking soon?

The sky is just about completely black when I stop. I'm on a tall grassy hill which overlooks the town. The ground is wet but I lie down anyway, stretched out on my back with my legs and arms spread-eagled, and I stare at the sky and try to count how many stars there are. I lose count for the tenth time and after that I feel my eyes slowly closing.

* * *

 

_The sand is freezing cold and if I hadn't had iron skin, my feet would be ripped to shreds already._

_But I have four feet._

_No, wait. Not feet – paws._

_I'm walking on four legs. My Adjuchas form._

_I can't feel the wind, the cold, the warmth. My iron shell protects me from everything._

_My eyes search for prey and find nothing._

_There is no wind in this place but sand somehow blows up against my body, into my face and eyes. It stings. I growl and blink, eyes watering, and when I open my eyes again and look in front of me my whole body freezes._

_Kurosaki is there._

_He's sitting on a small circle of lush green grass, not even ten paces away._

_Even as I watch it spreads, slowly, swallowing the pale sand and replacing it with emerald._ _  
_

_Kurosaki's sitting, legs crossed, leaning back on his arms with his head tipped back and his eyes closed. Completely relaxed. Seconds away from a creature that could tear out his soft, human, inviting throat with a snap of teeth.  
_

_Leaves are falling but they don't touch him._

_I move one step forward, onto the grass, and he seems to sense it, because he opens his eyes and looks at me directly, face carefully blank. Then after a split second he smiles. A real smile, full and radiant and toothy – it makes his eyes sparkle. He has dimples._

_That thing in my chest hurts again._

_Kurosaki starts speaking but I can't hear what he's saying. His voice comes out warped and watery, and everything just goes over my head. I'm crawling forward slowly on all fours, still in my panther form. My claws sink into the soft green grass and it bleeds red._

_His legs are stretched out in front of him now. He's still smiling. When he smiles it's the most beautiful thing in the world. I keep going, keep moving to him, but he stays so far away._

_I can't reach him._

_I keep moving, but he is always one step ahead._

_Out of nowhere I find myself lying on my back. I'm human. I'm staring up at the sun, blindingly bright in the sky, and I feel someone beside me and I know instantly it's him._

_It's him, it's only ever been him, it will only ever be him._

_I roll over and straddle Kurosaki's hips. He doesn't open his eyes. There's a hint of a smile touching at the corners of his mouth, though, and I have to touch it. My fingers trail over his mouth, down his chin, down his neck, and splay out across his chest. I can feel his heart beating, steady and strong and constant._

_The taste of his blood fills my mouth. I close my eyes, let my head fall back, I feel him inside me and around me. His breathing, harsh and short, fingers tugging at my hair, legs wrapping around my waist – his skin is slick with sweat and I slide my hand down the middle of his chest._

_My head lowers and I kiss his neck. My lips feel his pulse beating furiously._

" _Go ahead."_

_Kurosaki's voice is raspy, soft with exhaustion and arousal._

" _What?"_

" _Do it," he says, eyes glowing contentedly. He's smiling again and when he's like that, there's nothing I wouldn't do for him. "I know you want to."_

" _Want to what? What the fuck are you talking about?"_

_One of his hands cups the back of my head and forces it to his throat. I understand what I'm meant to do. My mouth opens of its own accord and somehow, I know that my teeth aren't teeth anymore._

_They're fangs._

_This time the taste of blood isn't a mere memory: hot, salty liquid coats my lips and tongue, trickling down my chin. My teeth are sinking into his neck, into muscle and sinew and bone and I moan and-_

* * *

 

I wake up and lie completely still, my breaths coming deep and fast. Sweat slides off my forehead. My eyes are wide. I'm covered in water – what is it called, dew?

What a fucking dumbass name.

It's so damn cold. I hate the cold.

When I'm with Kurosaki, I'm never cold. Why am I not with him right now?

Wait, did I kill him? Was that just a dream? Did I kill Kurosaki for real?

_Fuck. Shit._

Fear rips through me and for a moment I really believe that I did. That he's dead. That I finally killed him.

But no, I feel that crackle of warm energy fizzle through me. I feel his power, his spirit. He's still alive. The scent of his spiritual power invades me and that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach calms down. I sit up and my head throbs fiercely.

Shit. My chest is hurting again and I don't know what it means.

No, I'm lying to myself. I know what the fuck this means. I just-

I sit up, wiping my face with one hand. It's freezing cold and almost numb. Something tickles in my nose and then all of a sudden _Jesus fucking Christ_ my face almost blows right off my head and I make this weird gusty wet sound, this, like, fuck, I can't describe it, it's too weird, and I get up and I _run_ – I run straight back to Kurosaki's place, because I have no fucking clue what just happened. All the way, my head pounds, I feel dizzy, weak like my bones have halfway turned to water.

They never lock the back door. I vault over the fence and I run straight into the house, pound up the stairs and barge into his room.

"Fuck, Kurosaki!"

He jumps, almost falling off his bed. "Shi- Grimmjow! What the hell?"

I grab his shoulders and shake him, almost wild. "What the fuck just happened to me!"

"How the hell should I know! What are you talking about, you idiot?"

"I was just outside and then I made this weird sound and I need to know what the fuck it is!" I snarl at him, fingers curling in his shirt. Shit, my head hurts so fucking bad.

"You were outside?" he asks incredulously, "Grimmjow, it's like six in the morning, were you outside all night? Is that why your hair's wet?"

"How the fuck should I kn – shit, it's - shit shit – " There it was again, like a feather brushing against the inside of my nose. Ticklish. Infuriating.

"What?" Kurosaki's eyes are wide with panic. "What is it?"

Before I can answer that tickling feeling in my nose becomes another explosion of sound. My head is spinning, my eyes are watering, and disgusting slimy stuff is coming out of my nose.

"That!" I shout at him, when I recover. "What the fuck is _that!"_

He blinks. "Uh…"

"Answer me goddammit!" I'm shaking him again, like he's a rag-doll. I'm almost frothing at the mouth.

"Grimmjow, calm down." Kurosaki's voice is low and he cups my face with his hands, mouth twisting like he's trying not to grin.

"This isn't funny, shithead!"

"Grimmjow, all you did was sneeze!"

"What? What the fuck is that?"

"It's like something that you do when you're sick or something. It's nothing bad, OK? Your head's not gonna blow up, you've just…" Kurosaki trails off, uncertain.

"I've just _what?_ Fucking tell me!"

"You just…have a cold."

A short silence follows, where I look at him, not understanding, and he doesn't seem like he does either.

"I have a what?" I ask.

"You have a cold," Kurosaki says slowly. "Uh…you know what that is, right? You should have learned what that is by now- but, I mean, how…how long've you lived in the human world, now? I can't remember."

"How the fuck should I know? I have no fucking clue how your stupid time system works. It was cold like this the first time I came here, that's all I remember."

"A year? You've been here about a year, then?"

"I dunno, you fuckhead," I snap. "But what the fuck is a 'cold' and why do I have one?"

"It's like…well, it's…basically, you're sick." He sees the look on my face and adds, "Only a little, though! All you have to do is drink lots of liquids and keep warm and it should go away after a while."

"But why the fuck did I get one? I don't fucking want it!

"It's not like you have a choice in the matter, moron! You shouldn't have stayed outside in the cold like you did, you were practically asking for it!"

"Fuck y-"

I can't swear at him properly because I 'sneeze' again and this time, no matter what Kurosaki tells me, I'm sure I'm gonna spontaneously combust there and then. It's so loud my whole body shakes with it. My eyes close and I sag, falling forward.

"Whoa, there!" I feel Kurosaki's strong, warm arms around my shoulders. "Jeez, Grimmjow, you really are sick. You're gonna…you have to stay in bed for a few days. I'll take you to Urahara's in a few hou-"

"No!" My voice is slurred. "F…fuck that. Hate him. I…I wanna…stay here."

"Here?"

I can't speak, so I nod into his neck. He smells like he just had a shower. So good. His skin, so smooth. Shaved today, too.

"Grimmjow?"

Sounds like he's far away.

Why is he always so far away? I want him close.

Closer to me.

"Grimmjow, hey-"

'M so fuck'n tired…

"Grimmjow, don't pass ou - ah, fuck…"

* * *

Grimmjow refuses to go anywhere else for the next week, and stays wrapped up in about three hundred blankets in my bed. He groans, he grumbles, he complains: he's too hot, he's too cold, he's hungry, he's horny, I'm not paying enough attention to him, so on so forth. He is the epitome of a spoiled, selfish child.

Sometimes I just want to take a butcher's knife to his head and hack away. I feel like that around him most of the time, to be honest. He just seriously pisses me off even without trying, and the thing is, he loves to _try._

There are moments, though, that make up for everything else. Moments like when we take a bath together and he's almost falling asleep in the water and snoozes with his head on my shoulder; when he's too weak to eat by himself and I have to spoon-feed him some chicken soup to keep his strength up; when he gets too cold at night, even with a mountain of covers, and clings to me like a limpet. All I can do then is stroke his back, run my fingers through his hair, whisper something soothing into his ear so that he doesn't whine all the damn time.

Like right now. Whine, bitch, moan, piss me off – that's all he does. He's heavy as fuck and lazy to boot, so I practically drag him everywhere with me because he won't let go of me. He won't let me out of his sight. Possessive, jealous, clingy – let's add those to his list of faults, shall we?

I wonder, why do I do this to myself. Why do I stay with him? Why do I keep protecting him?

These are the thoughts that are running through my head. I'm not watching him sleep, exactly; I'm just sitting there while he's stretched out over my lap and I'm just gazing at him absentmindedly.

It's coming up to twilight, I guess. I dunno it's getting dark, that's twilight right? The street lights outside are lighting up but I can't see my textbook clearly. I mean, I'm trying to study but I can't balance my book on my lap because Grimmjow's head is in the way.

After struggling for about ten minutes, trying to see in the bad light, I give up. It feels like everything is too slippery for my mind to hold onto. Maths, Chemistry, History. Nothing's staying in my head. I sigh and throw my book to the side, and Grimmjow takes that moment to mumble under his breath and tighten his hold on me.

I glance down at him. His head is turned at a weird angle and I can see the curve of his lips, his cheekbone, the way his eyes move under the eyelids. His hair is greasy and lanky, there are shadows under his eyes and his skin is stretched tight and pale over his bones. He looks frankly awful.

The thought suddenly comes to me: has he ever been sick before in his life?

Probably not. Did sickness exist in Hueco Mundo? Colds, the flu, things like that? Things like having a cough or getting chickenpox, things like that happen all the time here in the human world, how does he even deal with it?

Grimmjow frowns a little and shifts. My hand moves through his hair. My fingers dig into his scalp and his mouth falls open a little bit. He lets out a little sigh and frowns deeper, and I see wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes that hadn't been there just a few months ago.

He's aged. He's been here maybe about a year but already he's looking older, but I hadn't ever noticed before and it just suddenly hits me now like a punch to the stomach.

This must be hard for him too.

A new world. New people. New rules, new codes, everything. What you can and can't do or say. I know about living in this world, my family does, everyone here except Grimmjow does. Compared to us he knows nothing. He still can't read or write. He is basically still a child here.

Why does that thought hurt so much?

I get the weirdest feeling. Like I want to cry or something. Which is ridiculous, why would I ever cry over someone like him? I don't understand it. I don't want to take care of him like a parent, I don't have time to bring up a child as well as everything else. I just can't.

A sigh escapes me and it feels like it comes from my bones. I rub my face; my eyes are drooping closed, I'm so tired. I need to sleep.

The blankets are warmed already from Grimmjow's body heat. I pull them up over both of us and settle down more comfortably, and then Grimmjow snorts and blearily opens his eyes, looking confused.

"Wha's time?" he mumbles, squinting at me.

"Dunno, late. I'm going to sleep."

He looks down, and the expression on his face – I've never seen anyone look so sad. "'M tired."

The anger and frustration softens at the hopeless sound of his voice. I pull him closer, try to smile. "I know. I'm sorry. Let's try to get some sleep, yeah?"

"'M hungry too."

"Yeah."

"I don't hate you." It comes out plain and simple, no anger, no tenderness, just words spoken truthfully.

For a second I can't speak. Then I say, "I don't hate you either."

_He's on top of me, on his hands and knees. My knees are around his waist, legs wrapped around him. He slides out of me slowly, pushes back in until I can feel his flesh press against mine and his hard, throbbing cock inside me touches something that makes me see white._

_We are covered in sweat. No talking, just grunts and cut-off moans and a fuckload of swearing from his filthy mouth that just heats me up more. The bed squeaks noisily and I don't care who hears it._

_Grimmjow starts picking up the pace, starts slamming into me roughly and all I can do is arch my back and stuff my fist in my mouth to stop from crying out. Over and over again. His hands are on my throat, squeezing._

_I don't stop him. I don't want to stop him._

_My toes curl. Muscles tense, my eyes roll back into my head. I feel like I'm dying._

_Grimmjow leans down, presses his forehead against mine._

" _Fuckin' hate you, Kurosaki," he breathes, grabbing my face, kissing down from my forehead to my neck._

" _Hate you too," I say, gasping, sliding my hands through his sweaty hair. "Hate you so fucking much."_

_Now his hands are on my hips, gripping them so tight I know I'll have bruises soon._

" _Hate me harder," I moan, grinding against him, "more, I'm almost there-"_

" _Ah, yeah, fuck, yes-"_

" _Oh god-"_

"I don't hate you," I say again. Grimmjow blinks at me slowly, then closes his eyes. I think I see a tiny smile on his face.

"What medicine did you even take?" I ask him. "You shouldn't be this sleepy, you should be recovering by now. It's been more than a week, right?"

"Dunno," he says. "I took some pills from your dad's office."

A pause.

"And what the hell were these pills?"

"No fucking clue."

Oh crap. What has he done now? "Can you even remember what they were called?"

"Nope." Grimmjow's electric blue eyes are cracked open and he's openly grinning now. "They were blue though. And weird shaped. And make me horny."

"Blue? You - oh my god."

He just laughs, and there's that edge of craziness back again. It surprises me how glad I am to hear it.

"Grimmjow, did you take the Viagra?"

That smile, that wicked maddened smile, there it is.

It's back. He's back.

"I dunno," he says, cocking his head to the side suggestively. "What does it do?"

I stare at him for a second and I feel an answering smirk spread across my face.

"Well, maybe…"

What am I even doing? He's probably still sick!

"Maybe I could show you," I say.

It isn't until we're both lying naked in bed hours later, panting, still sweating, almost falling asleep, that I realize Grimmjow will probably have given me his cold.

"You dick," I say, "you totally did that on purpose."

"I didn't eat any Veegra."

"Viagra."

"Whatever."

"You just didn't want to suffer alone, then?" I'm only teasing but his face darkens anyway. I regret the words instantly.

"Don't care about being alone," he mutters, "since I've always been alone anyway. You get used to it."

_I've always been alone anyway._

You're not alone, Grimmjow. I'm always here for you. Stupid prick.

I _love_ you.

"But you're not alone anymore, so you can stop moping now," I say.

"Shut up, I ain't moping."

I open my mouth and the word are ready to come out. But they stick in my throat, and instead of telling him that I'm in love with him I cough awkwardly and kiss him messily, and when I pull back he's smirking again. He's still sick, but he's still Grimmjow. He might have moments of weakness but he always recovers. Always a spiteful remark, a crazy smile, that evil look in his eyes. It's been a long time since I've hated any of that.

To be honest, I don't know what I would do if he stopped being himself. Stopped being violent and offensive and just about insane. I need, I love, this crazy, reckless, stupid person.

And yet, I feel more pathetic than I've ever felt before in my life. Saying those words takes more bravery than it takes to battle a thousand Espada. I have never felt so weak.

"I can't say it," I tell him.

"You don't have to."

Words fail me again. I stare into his eyes, into those bright blue eyes, the most beautiful things I've ever seen, and I can feel it; he knows.

He knows that I love him.

Grimmjow stares straight back at me. He holds my gaze for what seems like years. In those eyes, something flashes; a fire, a spark, answering the one in my own heart. He presses his forehead against mine and everything that he wants to say but can't is expressed right there in his eyes.

Finally, finally, after so long, my body doesn't feel so heavy. I don't feel like one person drowning helplessly in the sea anymore.

Grimmjow is there, drowning with me.

 


End file.
